Horchata
by Pollo-Farts
Summary: Self indulgent fic/drabbles. Craig is in love. He thinks its terrible. Fic idea comes from tumblr post : Enjoy the drabbles.
1. Chapter 1

You assume the usual position under the bleachers this morning, as you do every morning, to get your first dose of pleasure for the day. You've already retrieved a cigarette from your stash and are about to light it when the second participant of the daily ritual finally saunters over.

"G'mornin' Tucker," He smiles at you. "How many is it today?"

* * *

Your name is Craig Tucker, you're fifteen, and something is wrong with you. Something is very, **very**, wrong with you. You are currently jogging away from what you're sure is the biggest mistake you've made in your life so far. You get the impulse to look behind you, where the stream of spastic curses is coming from, but you don't have to. You don't have to look back to know Thomas' face is contorted in surprise, confusion, and most likely repulsion. Fuck it, you're going home and if you're lucky Thomas will be embarrassed enough to never tell anyone else.

You don't stop running till you've successfully locked yourself into your own room. You don't start breathing until you're in your room either. You pull out your cell as you poorly attempt to not hyperventilate; your contacts list isn't particularly long, not like Token's who has the number of practically everyone at school, but your shaky fingers make it tough work to make it down to M.

McCormick.

You type out a quick text, close your phone, and plop back onto your bed to wait. Thankfully, it's not long before you hear the familiar sound of steps climbing the staircase towards your room. You sit up as Kenny comes into your room, not even bothering to knock. "Hey."

"What's up, Tucker? You never text me- it kind of freaked me out a bit." He smiles at you. He's always smiling, you think he smiles more than anyone at school. Well, besides Butters.

You take a breath, " I need your help." Kenny's eyebrows shoot up. You glare them back down. "But if you ever tell anyone what I'm going to tell you, I swear McCormick, I will make your life a living fucking hell. Your home life will feel like the fucking Garden of Eden after I'm-"

"I get it! I get it! Holy shit dude! You really are freaking me out now." You notice that he does actually look worried, so you decide to take a step back.

"Will you help me or not?"

"Yeah, sure dude." Another smile.

"Play therapist with me." You demand calmly as you lay back on your bed again, closing your eyes and waiting for him to start.

At school, everyone assumes you're only friends with the boys in your "gang", but in reality your friendship with Kenny goes back to when you two were ten: when playing pretend was still something you boys all did. You stumbled on Ken at the park alone, which was totally weird- where the hell was his gang? You thought they were always together, but I guess even you can be wrong sometimes. You remember going over to him for the hell of it, adjusting fake glasses and holding up an invisible clipboard. "Hello, I'm Dr. Tucker, what seems to be the problem, kid?"

"Everything." He didn't look up at you from where he was sitting, he probably wasn't interested in playing but you were bored as fuck with nothing else to do so you continued.

"What are you sick or something?"

"Yeah. I'm sick in the head."

Oh. "No, dude. Stop."

"What?"

"If we're playing therapist then you have to lay down." You distinctly remember the smile he gave you before eagerly plopping onto his back in the grass. And then he told you everything: his problems with his friends, his shitty home-life, and his personal dying problem. Apparently he told his gang, but they wouldn't believe him, wouldn't even try to listen really. From then on, you were sort of like, secret friends, hanging out only when you had no one else. And when things got bad you'd make an appointment with your therapist.

It's been a few years since you've played, so it takes a few moments for Ken to realize what you mean, grab your desk chair to sit beside you, and get out his clipboard. "Well hello there Craig, it certainly has been a while since I've seen you in my office."

You watch him pretend to flip through your "charts" or whatever. "Mhm.."

"Okay, uh, what brings you here today?"

"I'm in love."

"Love? That sounds like awesome news!"

You sigh. "With almost every guy we know."

"O-oh..?" He pauses, you really wish he could stay in character like you can. "Would.. you care to elaborate?"

"What's there to fucking elaborate? I want to kiss and bang basically every guy I know and it's driving me insane! I can't even get through lunch period without feeling like I'm gonna faint anymore. Oh and to top it all off I kissed Thomas today."

"Holy shit dude."


	2. Chapter 2

You blow smoke in his face and he only smiles more. "Just you Ken. I haven't come across any of the others yet."

He simply shrugs and asks, "Let me bum one from you?" You watch as he extends his hand towards you with an expression that distinctly reminds you of a cat. You want to deny him but you find yourself digging out your pack again anyway; Kenny McCormick is the kind of guy who always ends up getting what he wants. So you hand over your last cigarette without too much fuss and roll your head back to look at the dreary morning sky. Mornings like these are the worst, you think, because they give everything that weird film of sadness, and some things just aren't meant to look like that.

Where you're standing is calm and quiet compared to the noise of the opening school. Besides his first question, Kenny stays as quiet as you do: morning smoke time is reflection time. Today that time will be spent reflecting on the dude next to you. You desperately wish you could get a glance into that kid's head more than anyone else's. How the hell does he always know everything? He's like a wise old man wrapped up in a flirtatious blonde tortilla shell. He pisses you off sometimes, asking questions he already knows the answers to; as if the only reason he asks is to make sure you, yourself, know the answer. Sometimes his wisdom simply freaks you the fuck out.


	3. Chapter 3

You've never actually seen someone peel grapes before you watched Tweek eat them for the first time. Not that Tweek had never eaten grapes before, because with the skill he's peeling those grapes with his shaking hands, he must do this often enough, but you've just never had the opportunity to watch before.

"Mn! What!?"

"Hm?" You were watching him. He noticed. How does he do that?

"You're staring at me man! What is it!?" You watch as his expression shifts to panic and his body starts to tremble in that way you can practically feel yourself. "Ah! Oh god-! There's something on my f-face isn't there?! S-someone's behind me with a bottle rocket?! Fuck!"

"No." You quickly assure him. And assured he is; his tremor calms and he heaves such a relieved sigh, it makes your own heart race. Yeah, that's it. That's always been it: Tweek's near-complete submission to you, to your judgment. Sometimes you wonder how easy it would be to just take him for yourself. You're almost certain he's gay and would probably consider you to be attractive. His baby-animal eyes and pouty lips make you think it'd be an easy task but sometimes you get the sense that there's more to the blonde than that. Something a little darker, maybe a bit dangerous hiding just beneath his jittery surface. "Just- why are you peeling those?"

"Fucking pesticides, man! I don't want to die!" He practically scoffs, as if you even had to ask.

"Oh."


End file.
